The sun has set for a few hours now, and just about everybody in the village has retired for the night... everybody except me, the apprentice gravedigger. It's not a glamorous task, but somebody has to do it, and I suppose that someone is me. For about a week now, I have been taking care of the local graveyard on my own, with my master having left for England. He really didn't say much as to why exactly he suddenly had to leave beyond "familial matters", and on top of that, he made clear he would be away for at least a month. At first, the task that was left to me seemed quite daunting, but in the end, nothing much happens here. I had to bury some old lady a few days ago, but that went by without much incident, and beyond that, it's just regular checkups and the occasional light cleaning.

However, there is one part of my duties I'm never quite comfortable with, and that is the final round of the day, to be done just before going to bed. No matter how many times I tell myself there's nothing to be afraid of out there, going through a graveyard in the dead of night is always at least a bit frightening. Stepping out into the cold autumn night, I pull my collar up tight and begin making my trip. As I hear nothing but my footsteps in the silence of the night, I marvel at just how foggy it has gotten. Just an hour ago, I could see outside just fine, but all of a sudden, it's like the heavens themselves laid down a veil over the entire place. And of course, all this has to happen on the eve of All Saints' Day. For a moment, I think of the legends that tell of what takes place on this very day, where Death himself raises the dead for a night-long dance. But of course, that's just a rumor. Being a gravedigger that deals with death on a daily basis does a lot to dispel all these superstitions.

Of course, that's what I think to myself as I suddenly begin to hear faint music coming from somewhere within the graveyard. Through all the fog, I can't make out a thing, but I can definitely make out the sound of a violin cutting through the silence like a knife. Didn't the legends tell that Death plays a violin when he leads the dead out of their graves? Terror grips my heart like a vise, but despite every last fiber of my body screaming at me to turn back, to just lock myself up in my cabin until sunrise, I press onwards, into the fog. And as I press on, the music becomes louder, the violin now joined by several more instruments, all coming together to create a demented, yet somehow exciting melody. Are those lights in the fog? And wait, over there... is that grave dug up? And there, another one! At this point, I should be quaking in sheer fear, and yet I can't stop myself from moving closer.

My steps are slow and timid, expecting to be savaged by some demon at every turn, but the attack I fear never comes. Instead, the fog slowly lifts all around me, revealing to me an utmost grisly sight. Graves are torn open, and the dead have risen. As much as I want to ascribe this to some dream or trick of the light, I can only conclude that what I am seeing is real. Skeletons, bony arm in bony arm, twirling around and dancing a jig. Ghostly apparitions whirling around, their howls and moans building the baseline of a deathly choir. Living corpses in a half-decayed state, shuffling and shambling to the rhythm of the music. And there, in the middle of it all, a pale-skinned, tall figure in dark robes, playing the violin with great fervor.

Upon spotting me, the figure stops playing and looks upon me with a smile. "Ah, welcome, Olivier! We are so glad you were able to join us for these festivities... after all, they only come once a year!" he exclaims as the dead around him moan and rattle their approval.

All I can reply with is a vaguely stuttered out "Y-you know my name?", which elicits a laugh from the figure.

"Why, of course I know your name! After all, I know everybody in this world. I know when their time here begins... and I know when their time is up. And then, they join me here..." he replies, a statement which can only lead me to one conclusion: I am looking at Death himself. The legends were true, and I couldn't be more scared. And yet, the calm smile on Death's face doesn't waver. "Oh, Olivier, you don't need to be frightened. Your time won't come for a long while. I am not here to claim your immortal soul, no... just to invite you to our little celebration," the reaper explains, beckoning me closer.

Again, my legs carry me forward despite my apprehensions, and the nearer I get, the more I am struck with the sheer beauty of Death. All the drawings and descriptions I've heard of the grim reaper always described him as a terrifying presence, and yet what I see before me is nothing short of divine. Long, immaculate black hair framing a soft, pale face with deep, crimson red eyes... this is dangerous. I could fall for Death right here and now... God only knows what that would mean for me.

And as the reaper hands his violin off to a skeleton, he holds his hand out for me. "Come, Olivier. Join me in this dance of the dead. The night is still young, and there's so much fun we can have," he says, and I can't resist taking his hand. The dead strike a new melody,